At last year’s The Amaz!ng Meeting, a two-day conference of sceptics and debunkers of bunkum, Alan Moore was the final guest speaker. Imposing and grizzled, he divined the question he thought everyone was asking.

For those of you who are after a true celebration of the humble word, events which find a fresh and exciting approach to those little sounds that spill out of our mouths, look no further than London Word Festival. Now in its fourth year, this East London literary festival is as far removed from those stale, celebrity ridden festivals as an aardvark from a zyxt (Kentish second singular indicative present form of the verb see) and boasts a host of exhilarating poets, writers, musicians and comedians.

This summer, as well as hosting a boxing tournament, a wine festival and model engineering exhibition, Alexandra Palace – at the top of North London – is the venue for two days of I’ll Be Your Mirror, a ‘sister event’ to the All Tomorrows Parties festivals. The incongruity of the location’s uses suits an organisation that began by putting on festivals in Pontins and Butlins holiday camps: avant garde noise bands playing where the weekend before redcoats performed hits from musicals, among arcade games and neon fast food outlets.

At his home in Highgate, which doubles up as ATP HQ for a “close-knit” staff of eight, founder Barry Hogan – who, 12 years after the first Bowlie weekender is, with wife Deborah, involved in all parts of the ATP’s growing empire (now including a record label) – explains the idea behind the I’ll Be Your Mirror: “We wanted to design something that you could do in a city, without the accommodation but still with the curator aspect, so people could maybe come just for the day, so they get to embrace it”.

University classes and glass-eyed professors have long pondered the significance and meaning of the word ‘literature’. The most forthcoming definition is that offered, as always, by the Oxford English Dictionary: “Written works, especially those considered of superior or lasting artistic merit.” But what can this definition reveal to us about film, and how much the form of literature has changed, especially when looking at the inception of the auteur’s contribution? Could a film be termed literature? Perhaps but perhaps not.